


Reported

by Emiliya_the_Cossack



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Adventure, Espionage, Gen, International scandal, Reese is the best, international espionage, just read the story, so is Finch, takes place season 2 ish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-13 14:42:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21495946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emiliya_the_Cossack/pseuds/Emiliya_the_Cossack
Summary: An out-of-state visitor is the newest POI from the machine, and it’s not just her age that has the team baffled as to her circumstances and who is after her. FSB, CIA, the Russian mob and the Chechen government all seem to want something from the fifteen-year-old, and unfortunately she’s as good at keeping at bay as she is at finding trouble.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey POI friends! This is my first story to the fandom I have posted, though I made up the character of Rachel several years ago and dabbled in several one shots. I will admit this is my first chapter story I have ever put together for Person of Interest, so bear with me and give me a little grace as I try to swing my way through this as in canon as possible. Hope you enjoy and thanks for reading!

The phone rang.

But not just any phone, no. Not his cellphone, or a landline, or a desk phone for a job he technically didn’t have.

A phone booth began to ring as he passed by, and every muscle in him tensed.

He stood there for a moment, frozen, wondering how many times he would hear that ring before the second of panic would cease to catch him off guard. He reasoned most likely never; how could anyone get used to the ring of death?

Harold Finch limped to the phone booth and took in a deep breath before answering it. The other end clicked, then a mechanical voice began to name off random words in no particular order.

He listened, memorized it, then when the other end clicked to signal the end of the call, he contemplatively set the phone back on it’s hook and looked in the direction of the park.

Grace would be there about now, working on her seagull painting.

_ Can’t people give me one minute, even just thirty seconds, to enjoy a moment to myself? _

Finch quickly dismissed the thought as selfish, adjusted his glasses and took in a deep breath. No, death didn’t wait for anyone. And if he even had a small percentage of stopping it, he would.

Even when it interfered with his own day.

Pulling out his phone, he entered his password and called the first number on his recent call list.

“Mr. Reese? We have a new number.”

  
  


“Rachel Smith, fifteen years old, of Worley, Idaho. Daughter of---”

“John Smith?” John interjected with a slight smirk.

Finch gave him the look that clearly said he was not amused and resumed his info dump. “Daughter of Justin and Linda Smith, and has two brothers, one older and one younger. Rachel works part time at a horse ranch in Fighting Creek, odd name if you ask me, trains dogs for obedience classes and horses for western trail classes, and owns two horses of her own and a dog. Most of the photos I found from her non frequented social media accounts were just pictures of her horses and dog. Justin, her father, died two years ago in a car accident. He was a foreign correspondent for Eastern Europe and the Middle East, predominantly highlighting the Chechnya conflict.”

“Was the car accident a cover for a murder?” Reese asked.

“Unlikely,” Finch answered as he pasted the picture of their latest number on the board. “The accident occurred two winters ago while he was driving home in a blizzard and hit a moose. Rachel and her younger brother were in the car but other than her brother receiving a broken arm, both made it out of the accident unharmed. Their father was not so lucky. Rachel appears to be in New York on a school trip, a curious fact considering she is homeschooled and her hometown of Worley has a population barely reaching three hundred people. It appears that the teacher leading this trip, a Mr. Rodney Hansen, is an old family friend and managed to pull some strings to let Rachel come along with Couer d’Alene highschool.”

“An Idahoan, huh? In New York.” Reese took a sip of his coffee and pulled a tiny piece of bread off his egg sandwich, discreetly passing it to Bear. “She could be a perpetrator, then.”

Finch turned to Reese, one eyebrow raised as he studied his dark, pepper-haired associate. “At fifteen? Surely, you jest.”

Reese leveled his gaze at Finch. “Ever been to Idaho, Finch?”

“No, and I don’t plan to. Too much...nature, for me. I prefer the jungle of New York City, thank you very much.”

“Idaho isn’t a jungle.”

“It might as well be in my perspective. I never was much for the western states, they are a bit too wild for my taste.”

“Hence the reason our Rachel here,” Reese gestured to the picture on the POI board, “just might be our perp. They’re pretty free spirited over there.”

“Highly unlikely for a fifteen year old, even one hailing from such an area. Miss Rachel appears to be staying with several students from the highschool at the Red Lion Hotel off of fifty-seventh. At this hour in the evening I imagine they have retired from whatever sight seeing activities they might have engaged in today and are back at the hotel. I want you to get eyes on Miss Rachel and see what you can glean from her through the usual methods. Then, tomorrow, I have arranged for you to be the tour guide for the school group she’s with. You will be giving them a tour of the statue of liberty, I will have your ID ready tomorrow and have conveniently given the police an anonymous tip that Mr. Jerry Winslow, whom you are replacing, has been stealing out of tourists backpacks.”

Reese chewed thoughtfully on his muffin. “A lie, Finch? For a cover?”

“No, Mr. Reese, a fact. You should know by now that I do not lie about such things.”

Reese considered the picture of the fifteen-year-old girl and studied it with a keen eye. She looked nice, had a soft smile and bright green eyes. Her hair was a reddish-brown color, and she had several freckles dotting her cheeks. A fairly ordinary looking girl in all respects, a sweet smile on her face and plenty of mischief sparkling in those eyes. Other than the fact Finch had mentioned she was homeschooled, it seemed like she was a normal kid out for an ordinary school trip to New York City.

And yet she was about to be involved in a violent crime.

“I’ll head over to the hotel now and see if there is a room available above the kids’ rooms,” Reese said, rising from his chair and taking the last bite out of his egg muffin. “I can slip a camera through the vent and get eyes on what they’re doing. Should be simple enough.”

Without a word, Finch reached onto his desk and handed Reese a printed sheet of paper. He scanned it. “I see you already took the liberty of booking my room.”

“I am sure I don’t need to remind you to make sure all the proper security measures are taken that a threat isn’t posed to Miss Rachel tonight by securing camera footage of the hallways, Mr. Reese. I think you will find everything you need in the hotel room I booked for you to take care of the job tonight. Be sure to report back to me while I do a little more digging into Miss Rachel’s background, family and town.”


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning found a very grumpy and tired Reese standing outside of the hotel in a green Adidas jacket and blue jeans, something he was not very comfortable wearing. He fiddled with his badge once more and stifled a yawn, irritably checking his watch to see how late the kids were.

Fifteen minutes.

“Finch, at this point the only threat I see to Rachel is boredom and perhaps food poisoning. The steak and eggs were under cooked at breakfast. Even the kids she is traveling with regard her nicely, despite the fact she’s a homeschooler and they’re all in the same class.”

Through his earpiece came a slight,  _ tsking _ sound of Finch. “The machine is never wrong, Mr. Reese. Whatever the threat may be to Rachel we still have yet to identify it. Just because she passed the evening away peacefully doesn’t mean she isn’t in for excitement today.”

“Most likely by her own doing.”

“Do you really believe a fifteen-year-old is the perpetrator, Mr. Reese?”

“No, I’m joking, Finch. But if I was on this school trip I would be tempted to be.”

Before Finch had a chance to respond, from behind the ex-operative came the sound of someone clearing their throat. Reese whipped around to behold none other than Rachel, who was looking up at him curiously as she took in his casual “tour guide” uniform and badge.

“You’re not the guy from yesterday,” she said, one eyebrow raised. “What happened to Mr. Winslow?”

“He...got in some sort of trouble,” Reese replied, smoothly as he could. “I’m his replacement.”

She nodded, tilted her head a little, and let her green eyes fixate on his. She didn’t say anything for a long, long moment, almost long enough that Reese thought about making conversation instead of staring at each other awkwardly.

“Sorry the rest of my group is slow,” she said at last. “Punctuality is not the strong suite of an Idahoan, though we are friendly.” She smiled suddenly and stuck her hand out. “My name is Rachel Smith, it is nice to meet you John Wylie. I know a family by the name of Wylie out southwest of Worley, Idaho. Maybe you know them?”

“Probably not…” he said, taking her hand and shaking it in a somewhat bemused fashion.

It was as if the previous silent, contemplative girl had been replaced with an entirely new teenager altogether. Rachel flicked her reddish-brown ponytail over her shoulder and continued to plunge on with her one-sided conversation. “I figured but no harm askin’. So where are we supposed to be going today? Personally I really wanted to see that fancy art museum everyone talks about called the Metropolitician-”

From his ear piece Reese heard Finch mutter, “I think she means the Metropolitan Museum of Art.”

Leave it to Finch to correct a teenager on their pronunciation when they couldn’t even hear him.

Reese turned his attention back to Rachel, taking a second to register that the onslaught of words had ended and Rachel was staring at him intently again.

He tried to bring to mind anything he might have missed but his brain was drawing a blank, everything had run together so quickly he hadn’t really been paying attention while Finch was speaking to him.

“Pardon...me?” he tried.

Her eyebrow instantly went up. “Why were you having breakfast in the hotel this morning, wearing a suit?”

Reese stared down at the girl, his mind racing. How had she observed-

“Rachel!”

Rachel turned towards the entrance of the hotel where a middle-aged, slightly overweight man was descending from the steps, followed by fourteen to sixteen teenagers. She immediately stepped back from Mr. Reese and waited for the teacher to make his way over to where they were standing, giving Reese an almost dirty look.

“I am sorry if Rachel has been talking your ears off, they don’t come friendlier than her.” The teacher stopped in front of Reese, putting his hand out to shake his. “The name’s Hansen, thanks for meeting us. Where’s Winslow?”

“He’s taking an unexpected leave.”

“Oh, okay. Good to know. Well, can we get going?”

Reese nodded and motioned towards the tour bus Finch had acquired for him and lead the way, Hansen falling into step next to him as the kids followed behind, laughing and texting and doing everything that teenagers do.

Except Rachel, who, after Reese had opened the door to the bus and glanced back to catch sight of his new charge, looked away as if she’d been staring at him for some time. She almost looked like she was squinting, and her cheeks reddened for having been made by Reese.

_ How on earth did she see me at breakfast? _

And how he wished he knew what she’d asked. He had sat in such a discreet corner, hadn’t made eye contact with any of them, was wearing his suit and looking at his laptop. Yet somehow a fifteen-year-old girl had managed to identify him.

Reese turned to pay attention to the kids as they filed onto the bus while Hansen sounded off their names to make sure everyone was aboard. From a quick glance at Hansen’s list, there were seventeen kids on this trip.  _ Small school trip, _ he thought.

“Rachel Smith.”

No answer.

Hansen looked up irritably. “Rachel?”

Reese turned to look and see if there were any kids left to get on the bus. None. His heart skipped a beat. He stepped into the bus and did a quick count of the teenagers sitting in their seats.

Sixteen.

And not one of them was Rachel.

“Rachel?” Hansen said again, and this time he didn’t sound irritated. He sounded worried. “Has anyone seen Rachel?”

From his earpiece came a little static as Finch came onto the line. “Mr. Reese, I dearly hope you haven’t lost her too.”

“Rachel isn’t on the bus,” Reese said to Finch and Hansen. “And I didn’t see where she went.”

Finch sucked in a breath. “Oh, dear…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun dun!!! Where is Rachel now?? You'll find out in the next chapter! Thanks for reading thus far, and blessings! Have a good Thanksgiving, readers!


	3. Chapter 3

Rachel Smith surveyed the street once more to make sure Mr. Hansen and that tour guide, Mr. Wylie, were not making their way to her vantage point from the side street. Once assured they had not caught sight of her, she pulled up the hood on her jacket and walked across the street in the best, nonchalant pace she could go. Heading west toward the side street  _ Maple, _ she counted her steps to keep her pace even and tried to slow her breath. Her heart was pounding so fast she was sure everyone walking next to her could hear it, but felt assured that the noise from the cars, the pedestrians and the businesses around them kept her anxious feelings from being seen or heard.

She made it to  _ Maple  _ and turned quickly down it, taking a quick breath to steady herself.

Now to find her way to that restaurant,  _ Snarky’s. _

She felt into her jacket to make sure the folder was still there, even though she had checked a billion times. It was, as usual, and she tried to let her mind be at ease.

A hard thing to do when you were about to expose your own government for illegal activity.

And murder.

Her throat tightened at the thought but she pushed it away. It was not time to get emotional, she was on that brink between a panic attack or losing her nerve in completing her task. She didn’t need to add a crying spell to her already tensed nervous system. It was all she could do to keep it together as it was, if she didn’t keep forcing herself to block out what she was actually doing in New York she was going to lose it.

_ I hate cities. _

No wonder it was so hard to convince her mother she actually  _ wanted _ to go on this trip. 

“You get terrified travelling to Spokane, dear, why on earth would want to go to New York?” her mother asked when she begged her mom to join the school trip Mr. Hansen had been putting together. “It’s nice of Rodney to offer you can come along despite not belonging to the high-school, but I just don’t see you enjoying this sort of trip.”

“I want to broaden my horizons, mom,” Rachel had offered as they’d peeled the peaches for the jars. “I want to get out there and see the world and learn more about it.”

Which wasn’t exactly a  _ lie, _ but it certainly wasn’t the real reason she was determined to go to New York.

The real reason was in the fifty some odd papers that were stapled into the folder she was carrying in her jacket.

She had to block everything out again as her heart threatened to burst in a mix of excitement and terror.

Rachel wandered down the streets in the direction of _ Cherry st _ , where according to her quick search on google maps the night before was the location of the restaurant she was to be meeting the FBI agent. The fact that the FBI of one of the most crime-ridden cities in the USA would believe a kid who called in saying she had information about very illegal activity within the government was hard to digest, and that they were willing to set up a private meeting with her to keep her safe blew her mind. She must be more convincing than she thought.

Still, there was an uneasy feeling that this had all been  _ too _ easy.

Way too easy…

If the Idaho state FBI laughed her off when she tried to tell them what she had, why was the New York FBI listening to her instead? 

_ No, don’t overthink it. Just let it go. Don’t overthink it. Give them the papers and they’ll take care of the rest. Don’t overthink it. Don’t think about it at all. _

Rachel stopped at the crosswalk of  _ Elm _ and waited for the signal to flash white so she could walk across.

And who on earth was that Mr. Wylie back there, anyway? She might have bought the whole  _ tour guide _ thing if she hadn’t caught sight of him before in the hotel, sitting in a corner with a cup of coffee and a laptop and wearing a very nice suit. He threw her for a couple seconds with the complete personality and clothes change, but it didn’t take her long to connect the two different men as the same.

Photographic memory worked to her advantage, sometimes. 

The car accident flashed across her mind.

Most of the time, though, it worked to her disadvantage.

Rachel glanced over her shoulder again, just to make sure the strange Mr. Wylie hadn’t followed her. She didn’t see him anywhere, and she let herself relax just a bit. Whoever he was she had lost him, and if he was a threat before, he wasn’t at the moment. She’d be sure to tell the FBI agent about him in case he was FSB or something scary of the sort.

She realized that the signal had been blinking for a couple seconds and she darted across the road, calculating she was only two streets away from her target.  _ It’s almost all over, I can go back home and get out of this city and get back to the Young’s ranch and never have to remember any of this again. _

If she could fight the images off, that was.

_ Elm _ street to  _ Plum  _ to  _ Cherry. _ She could see  _ Snarky’s _ restaurant right up ahead, she was almost there. Almost through with this burden.

Taking a deep breath, she entered into the small restaurant and sat down in the booth the agent had outlined for her, the farthest one from the front door. Rachel ordered a cup of tea with milk, and settled in to wait for the man who was to finally take this burden away from her.

The man who would make her father’s murder right.

Within a minute of her taking a seat, a middle aged, slightly balding man with sharp, solemn features took the seat across from her, looking her up and down with a quick and trained eye.

“Rachel Smith?”

She nodded, her hands trembling. “I am.”

He reached across the table and offered her his hand, his eyes almost burning a hole in hers as they met each other’s gaze. “I’m agent Hersh, I am here to help you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Rachel, if only you knew...  
Thanks for reading, hope your Thanksgiving was as wonderfee as mine!


	4. Chapter 4

Finch typed furiously on the computer, pulling up past browser history, medical history, hacking the Smith’s family computer on the sideline,  _ everything _ to try to possibly piece where Rachel had disappeared to.

“And you weren’t able to blue-jack her phone at all?”

“I told you Finch,” Reese said softly on the other end of the line, albeit annoyed, “she only had a burner phone with her, and it didn’t have access to wifi.”

“I’m finally through the hotel’s security system and I am accessing the computer in the room Rachel was staying in…” he trailed off as a notification popped up. “Ah, and I have accessed the Smith’s family computer. Looks like they all share one, it will take a while to sift through the browser history of a family of five. However, the hotel computer seems to have had some browser history deleted last night, I can access and recover the lost data and see who was deleting their search history---”

A bad image popped up and Finch made a face. “I doubt that was Rachel’s search. It will only take a minute or two for me to look through this and see if anything stands out.”

“Rachel might not have a minute or two, Finch. Kids don’t usually disappear that efficiently. I offered Hansen my services and notified Carter and Fusco of the 911 call regarding Rachel having gone missing. Hansen is currently supervising the other sixteen kids and I have Carter and Fusco scouring the streets with me.”

“Good thinking, Mr. Reese, in the meantime, I will continue my work here-  oh! Here’s something interesting. Someone did a map search of a small family restaurant not more than a mile away from the hotel.  _ Snarky’s Family Eatery _ … that one odd little diner off of Cherry street. Whoever looked this up specifically looked for walking directions, Mr. Reese, and since I don’t see that as an ordinary attraction for most teenagers-”

“It’s Rachel,” Reese finished. “I’m on my way now, Finch, I’ll have Carter and Fusco drive the perimeter and see if she’s on the streets heading there.”

“I dearly hope she’s there and not gone for good…”

“Enough of the pessimism, Finch, you’re an optimist, remember?”

Reese trotted down the street, pulling his phone out and switching the line over. He dialed Detective Joss Carter’s number. 

“Hey, John, found your missing girl yet?” the rich-toned, professional voice of Joss came across the line.

“No, but I have an idea where she’s going.  Cherry street there’s a small dingy restaurant called  _ Snarky’s _ , Finch and I think she’s headed or is already there. I’m going straight to the place, if you could let Fusco in on the info why don’t you two drive the streets surrounding the area and see if our kid is there.”

“Sounds good, John, but if I get a dispatch to  _ Snarky’s _ I am not going to be happy with you.”

Reese smirked, finger going to his ear piece. “No promises, Carter.”

Then turned it back to Finch’s line as he rounded the corner onto  Cherry _ . _ Not that Finch hadn’t been listening in anyway. “Finch, I got eyes on the restaurant, I’m about to go in-”

He stopped mid-sentence and ducked behind a car, eyes narrowing as a tall, balding man exited the restaurant with Rachel at his side, a hand around her arm.

A man he remembered  _ very _ clearly from a recent interaction at Rikers and at the hotel Finch and he had worked a number at.

Agent George Hersh.

_ What on earth has this kid gotten into? _

“Mr. Reese-”

“Finch, I have eyes on Rachel, but I have bad news.” He studied the pair as they made their way down the street, following at a safe distance so Hersh didn’t spy him. “Rachel is in a lot bigger trouble than we realized.”

“What’s going on, Mr. Reese?”

He casually picked up a newspaper and scanned it when Hersh and Rachel came to a stop at a crosswalk, scanning the words while out of the corner of his eye keeping tabs on the hit man.

“Well for starters it seems Rachel is currently in the company of our friend Hersh.”

“Mr. Reese, shouldn’t you be intervening?!”

Reese studied the face of Rachel as she trotted to keep up with the long strides of Hersh as they crossed the street. She looked scared, but she wasn’t glancing around her like someone who was looking for help. Anyone being kidnapped would be trying to make eye contact with every passerby on the street.

“Finch, I think she doesn’t know who he is. She’s with him on purpose, she’s not looking around and she doesn’t seem to be searching for a way out.”

“What on earth could a child like that possibly be of any use to agent Hersh? Mr. Reese you need to recover her from him immediately, she has no idea what danger she is in just associating with the ma-”

Reese didn’t hear the rest as the gunshots began.

Without a second to process what was happening, he pulled out his firearm and charged forward, shoving the screaming civilians out of the way as everyone raced for cover. He saw Hersh dart behind a car, dragging the girl with him, firing in the direction of a small business where the gunfire was originating from.

Hersh was being fired at?

One, two, three, four men in masks came flying out of the building, three of them with handguns and the fourth with a bizon submachine gun, covering them by pelting the car Hersh was behind so he didn’t have a chance to fire back. Reese was dimly aware of the sound of sirens down the road, as well as Finch’s panicked voice demanding to know what was going on.

He didn’t know, and he didn’t have time to ask.

The four masked men flanked each other and proceeded in an orderly fashion, guns trained on the car and yelling in thick accents for Hersh to surrender the girl. To Hersh’s credit, he had the girl shielded behind him, the teenager covering her head with her hands and kneeling on the ground behind the government operative.

Reese took cover behind a now abandoned dump truck, cocked his gun and shot one of the operatives in the knee.

Immediately all the gunfire from the store was focused on him, confirming there had to be at least another four to five men in the business supporting the now three operatives charging Hersh. He glanced over at the agent and they made eye contact. Hersh stared at him and then gave him a dirty look, but didn’t swivel his firearm from his current assailants to take a potshot at Reese. He had his hands full.

The sirens were getting closer and Reese calculated Fusco and Carter were about three blocks away. If he was going to get the girl away from Hersh it would have to be now-

He didn’t get the chance. Hersh turned and grabbed the girl’s arm and stood up, putting his gun to the girl’s head and shouting at his attackers, “Come any closer and the girl dies!”

Immediately the shooting stopped and the three assailants remaining in the street held their guns ready but didn’t fire. Reese slinked a couple steps forward, gun trained on Hersh.

“That goes for you too, John,” Hersh snapped without turning to face Reese.

Rachel’s chest rose up and down, her green eyes glancing wildly about. Her hands were trembling, she looked from the three attackers facing her and Hersh and gave a sideways glance at Reese.

It was only too clear to him she had no idea what was going on.

“All we want is the girl,” one of the men in the street demanded. His accent was heavy, almost Slavic but not quite. “Give us the girl and we let you live.”

Hersh snorted. “No.”

Rachel was biting her lip to keep from crying. Reese took another step forward. A shot from the paint business across the way lodged itself into the hood of the dump truck. Reese ducked down once more.

One of the masked men swore, cocked his gun and aimed it at the truck where Reese was hiding. “You come out again we blow head off!”

The sirens came to a screeching conclusion, Fusco and Carter’s cars turning the corner at the same time and practically throwing the two detectives out as they jumped from their vehicles with their guns trained on the conflict in front of them. “NYPD, surrender your weapons!”

Not a single man in sight flinched. Not Hersh, not Reese, not the three masked men in the street.

But the gunmen in the paint store did.

Bullets began pelting Carter and Fusco’s cars. They threw themselves out of the onslaught and behind the cover of a brick building, neither one returning fire for fear of hitting the young girl in the clutches of Hersh.

However, the new barrage of bullets had been the distraction John needed to take action.

He had all three masked assailants down within two seconds, unfortunately having to shoot one in the head when he rose up immediately, despite his wound, to try and fire a shot at Hersh.

Hersh also took this moment of opportunity to fire a shot at Reese, missed, and then hooked an arm around Rachel’s neck and dragged her to cover in an alleyway, gun still to her head.

Reese threw himself forward and did a somersault behind another car, missing the bullets that came his way as soon as he’d come into view. He darted into the alleyway just in time to see Hersh rounding a corner with his hostage in tow. He wasted no time in racing after them, reloading his firearm with another magazine as he went. He rounded the corner and came to a halt, gun ready to fire but steady in his hand.

Rachel was no longer holding in the tears, they were freely falling as Hersh tightened his grip around her neck, gun shoved under her neck and digging into her throat.

“I don’t need her alive, John,” he stated nonchalantly. “I just need her as leverage to get out of here.”

“Then unfortunately I can’t let you take her.” Reese kept his gun trained on Hersh, looking for some weak point, anywhere, to hit him and not Rachel. “Let her go, Hersh, and I’ll let you get out of here.”

“You wouldn’t risk hurting a kid.”

Rachel’s breath was coming so fast, Reese could hear it from where he stood as she clawed at Hersh’s grip on her neck. She was choking from his hold.

“Hersh, let her go!” Reese snarled. A weak spot came into view; if Hersh just took one more step back-

Hersh pulled his weapon up and fired. Reese’s shoulder jerked back. Hersh moved that inch. Reese fired and hit his leg. Hersh fell backward, but he was dragging Rachel down with him…

A bullet whizzed by Reese’s ear and Hersh’s gun went flying out of his hand. Reese leapt forward despite the searing pain in his shoulder and grabbed Rachel in his arms, practically carrying her while he kicked Hersh’s weapon out of reach and into a gutter.

“John!”

He turned to face the voice, his arms gripping Rachel as she cried out and tried to wriggle out of his grip.

Carter had her gun firmly trained on Hersh, but glanced up at Reese for a split second. “Those other men, we don’t have them down yet. Take my car and get out of here,  _ now. _ ”

“But what about yo-”

“Just do it, John! She’s not safe here and you need a doctor, your shoulder is practically a river.”

Reese looked down and remembered he’d been shot, the pain returning as a wicked reminder. He turned back in the direction of the police officer and pulled Rachel along as she fought against his strong grip, wincing as his arm burned from his wound.

“Officer, please, help me!” she screeched at Carter, flailing her arms and trying to snag Carter’s sleeve as Reese hauled her toward the parked vehicle not twenty yards away.

Carter looked painfully at Rachel but didn’t take her gun off Hersh, who was struggling to sit up. “Sweetheart, it’s okay. Don’t fight John, he’s helping you. Trust me, it’s going to be okay, John is going to take you somewhere safe. I’ll check in on you later, okay?”

Rachel nodded quickly and choked back a sob, relaxing in Reese’s grip. In turn he relaxed his and lead her to the car, silently thanking the good Lord above for sending a gentle angel like Carter with her quick thinking and equally quick guns to intervene. He would have to thank her later.

He hustled Rachel to the car and pushed her into the back seat. “Lay down and stay low,” he commanded, then slammed the door and hopped into the driver’s seat.

Reese left the sirens on and put the car into drive, swinging it around and slamming on the gas, taking one more glance out the window to make sure Carter was okay. She was shouting at Hersh and keeping her gun trained on him, and seemed to have the situation under control. He noted reinforcements were arriving to both her and Fusco’s aid from around the corner of  Elm and let out a little breath he didn’t know he was holding.

They would be okay, with the rest of the NYPD and a SWAT team arriving, the men in the paint shop would have no chance. Carter could take care of herself, it would be okay. Oh, and Fusco was capable too, he forgot. They would be fine.

Touching his shoulder with his left hand, he sucked in a breath and let it out between his teeth. Reese fumbled with the passenger storage compartment and opened it, pulled out the first aid kit and threw it into the back seat. “Could you open that for me and look for some gauze?”

No movement from behind.

He glanced into the rear view mirror and caught Rachel’s eye, who was huddled on the floor of the car and hugging her knees, her hair pulled out of her ponytail in various sections and her body shaking. She only looked at Reese for a moment before looking away, and he noticed her shiver. The first aid kit lay on the floor next to her.

“Mr. Reese, Mr. Reese, are you there?!” Finch’s voice demanded frantically. “Mr. Reese, is Rachel okay? What’s going on!”

Reese wondered for a moment if Finch had been talking the whole time during the conflict and he’d ignored him, or if Finch had prudently remained silent up until he couldn’t hear anymore gunshots.

Either way, Reese decided to deal with his charge first before addressing his boss.

“Rachel, it’s going to be okay,” he said softly. “It’s going to be okay. My name is Reese, and you’re safe with me. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

From the other end of the line he heard Finch breathe a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank God, she’s alive. Well done, Mr. Reese. Well done.”

“Thanks, Finch. Now Rachel, could you please give me some gauze? I would prefer to get you to the safe house before I go unconscious, otherwise you’re driving and I don’t think you know the way…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAIIIIII I was so nervous to post this chapter because action scenes are NOT my forte. I hope I did okay and forgive me all people who know medical stuff because I do not. I apologize, and I'm sure my action wasn't very accurate either but I did my best. Trying to be realistic is hard especially when TV shows aren't realistic...
> 
> Anyway I hope you liked this chapter and thanks for reading, sorry it took so long to post, I don't have internet at home and my husband and I were in Montana for Christmas so I was busy. Hope your Christmas and New Year were great!


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